It’s not about what you told me,
but what I chose to believe.
Nothing feels worse than living
an imaginary dream.
And they occur so often and freely
whenever Satan creeps in.
By the time I breathe, and count to ten
it’s over and I have to start again.
When I dream while awake, the ending
usually involves an earthquake.
No you can’t tell me what to believe.
The display that you set before me,
are the words that I built around
You were with me, but not in your mind.
No you were somewhere else, all the time.
I saw what I wanted to believe
your words were nothing
‘til I accepted them for truth.
That is how I let you deceive me.
Never be anxious to accept the
empty flattery of words
often they end with sadness
I chose to believe what you said
I wanted your promises to be
proof of your affection.
All I got was dishonest discretion